Loadstar 161/161.d81/sr.justice

Text File | 1997-01-01 | 22.7 KB | 768 lines

           J U S T I C E

        by Daniel Robinson
           Kansas City MO

    The Second Place Winner in

  LOADSTAR's PROSEQUEST '97 Contest



 The Hill

    The crowd watched nearly silent
as the two figures walked up the hill
to the small wall of loose limestone
rocks. Few ever crossed this boundary
that encircled the hill. Some passed
quickly through when it became the
shortest route home in bad weather,
but others never entered, preferring
to walk around in the worse spring
squalls rather than cross through it.
Only the caretaker frequented the
hill beyond the stones. Quietly and
dutifully he had spent his life
caring for this ground, removing the
weeds, cutting the grass, keeping the
small shelter near the top repaired
and seeing that the post remained
ready should it be needed. Now, after
30 years of tending this hill he too
hesitated as he reached the wall,
hesitated a moment, then grasping his
charge by the upper arm moved on past
the wall, up the hill, past the
shelter and beside the post. The
hands of his companion, already
bound, were now lashed to the ring in
the post, the post and ring he had
oiled all these years so that even
now it looked no different than the
day he had first walked to it. Today
however it was different. Today it
was no longer a black iron ring in a
smooth hedge post on the top of a
well tended hill. Today until sunset,
it was a prison.

    Walking the few feet to the
shelter the caretaker sat down upon
the bench within. Looking down the
path to the town he saw the people
below were settling down too, finding
themselves a place to sit, or lie or
lean. A few left to tend to chores,
but no one would go far. No one would
want to be too far to return before
sunset. No one would want to be so
far that they could not return to a
vantage point should there be a shift
in the wind, a noise from the woods,
a change in weather.

    The caretaker expected a silent
vigil. His companion, however, looked
to shorten his sentence, if not in
time, then at least in endurance.
"What do you really expect to happen
now?" the prisoner asked.

    The caretaker remained staring at
the the village below and answered,
"I expect nothing. You will stand and
I will sit and whatever happens,
happens."

    "And if nothing happens?" the
prisoner queried.

    The caretaker still looked down
towards the town and replied, "Then
nothing happens. That is the
sentence. You have lived here all
your life as have I. You know our law
as well as I. Now if you don't mind I
would prefer to wait in silence."

    A smile began to form on the
prisoner's face, "Standing here is my
sentence. I remember nothing said
about silence," the prisoner reminded
his keeper.

    "Silence may not be required of
you, but I have no wish to talk. Talk
all you like, scream if you wish, but
don't expect me to keep you company,"
the caretaker replied.

    His prisoner would not be
ignored, "You want me to stand
quietly here all day and just wait
for some vermin to walk up and bite
me, or some storm to rush in and
drench me, or God knows what. Is a
day of idle conversation too much for
a condemned man to ask?"

    The caretaker turned his head
slightly towards his prisoner and
asked, "You feel your sentence too
harsh?"

    His prisoner nearly laughed and
replied, "Harsh? My God no! I'm found
guilty of doing in three of the
upstanding, hard working citizens of
this town. Chopped up the first two
and sent the pieces down the river
for the turtles to gnaw on, they say.
Would have kept it up too, had the
McGregger boys not come into Fiske's
stable as I was finishing him off.
Why, the whole town might have
disappeared before I was done. No
sir, I would say standing out here in
the summer breeze, smelling the
clover and watching the occasional
bird fly overhead, conversation or no
conversation, is a damned easy
sentence, all things considered."

    The caretaker now turned to face
his prisoner. "You know, it's more
than that."

    The prisoner still smiling
continued, "Well, it may be more or
it may be just that. Not you, or I,
or any of the good people who would
rather leave my fate to chance than
dirty their own hands really knows
whether it's a day in the park, a day
of misery, or a day of death. In
fact, except that I'm tied to this
post, this day isn't any different
than yesterday, or the day before."

    The caretaker's face had been
nearly expressionless. Now it began
to show the mixture of puzzlement and
anger he was feeling. He turned back
to stare out beyond the meadow then
turned to examine his charge for some
answer. Was he just pushing for a
debate to entertain himself until
sunset? No, clearly he believed this
was nonsense. He was smiling, at
times almost laughing. He was
actually amused by the sentence, or
his ability to annoy, or... Clearly
the prisoner was pleased with
himself. The thirty years the
caretaker had worked in this place he
had often imagined what it might be
like should he have to perform this
task, but not once had he imagined
the prisoner would be unrepentant,
even irreverent. Evil as the crime
had been he hadn't expected this. Not
from someone who knew of the past,
who knew of the others.

    He remained facing his prisoner,
looking him in the eyes he asked "You
know what happened in the past? What
happened to the others who have stood
at that post?"

    The prisoner sneered, "Yes, yes
we all know the children's tales. You
don't really think to frighten me
with such things now do you?"

    The caretaker returned, "We both
know the tales people tell, but I
also know more. As caretaker I have
read the records back to the
beginning. Whenever we ask how the
sentence was first chosen we are
simply told "by the wisdom of the
elders". You want entertainment. I
will tell you the whole story of how
it all started and perhaps you will
understand that this is not such a
frivolous thing. If you do not want
to hear this, then I will ask that
you remain silent, and I will do the
same."

    Entertainment was indeed what the
prisoner wanted, "Very well, old man,
tell me the history of this
sentence". His smirk got wider for a
moment as he added, "As God is our
witness, tell me how it all began".

    The caretaker ignored the mockery
and began:


  The Decision

    Such a crime had not occurred
since they first came here. This is
why they had built a town so far from
the cities and away from the trade
routes. They had hoped to escape the
evil of such places, but what had not
come with them, followed behind.
Still, theft or vandalism could be
repaid when the person was caught,
repaid double, that was "their" law.
However this crime could not be
compensated with hard work or
repayment. A life had been taken. It
was decided that how to punish the
crime would fall to the elders. How
to punish murder had long been
debated in the town but no decision
was ever reached. Now, it could be
put off no longer. Three were chosen
to make the final choice. All others
had sworn that their decision,
whether they agreed or not, would be
final. No further debate would be
allowed. Each was chosen to represent
one of the three factions that had
emerged from earlier attempts to
close the issue. These three would
now have to make the final decision.

    One was Mr. Gants, the
frontiersman who had chosen the
town's location years before leading
the first of his followers to this
valley. He felt most betrayed by this
crime. He had picked every family,
every person who had come with the
first group. To him, that the
murderer had come from this group,
was as much a shock as the crime
itself. A mistake had been made and
he intended to correct it. He could
not, he would not allow this disease
to spread. His fist pounded the table
as he spoke, "A life for a life! We
can not allow murderers to live among
us. This man must die!"

    Another, the Reverend Randal
spoke deliberately and sternly as if
he were giving a Sunday gospel from
the pulpit. "How can we condemn a man
for what he has done if we see no
harm in performing the task
ourselves. We will not stop murder by
becoming murderers ourselves."

    "That is quite different,"
spouted Gants. "You know an act to
punish a crime is not the same as
committing the crime itself. You have
spoken volumes of how God punishes
sinners, often with death. Do you
call God a sinner for this?"

    Angered by this blasphemy,
Reverend Randal stood and shot back,
"God sees all. He knows all. He
cannot be fooled by lies or
deception. He makes no mistakes. We
may not doubt this man's guilt but
what we decide now will be the
punishment for all who are found
guilty in the future. If we find out
a month later that some person was
innocent, can we bring them back from
the dead? If we find we have killed
an innocent, can we allow ourselves
to go unpunished?"

    Gant, not to be undone by
platitudes, snarled back, "If he
breaks out of his chains and kills
another, will God raise them back?"

    The third elder, Old Bellows, was
weary, not just from years of life
but from years of debate. Such
irreverence from his fellow elders,
those chosen as the wisest of the
town, was trying his tolerance.
"Gentlemen, that is enough!" The
other two, startled by their
companion's sudden entry into the
discussion, stared towards him as the
old man now raising slowly to his
feet looked at each. Taking stock of
their comments they both sat down and
waited for the expected scolding from
him. But in their argument the old
man had seen more than blasphemy and
anger. He had seen a solution. "Since
we all agree the only one who can
decide without error is God himself
than let God decide this man's
fate."

    The others stared in confusion.

    Bellows continued, "Tomorrow at
dawn we will take him to the hill
behind the church where God can see
him, watch him, and if He so chooses,
punish him. If by sunset God has
chosen to ignore this man's crime,
then we were wrong to convict him,
and we too shall ignore it. Are we
agreed?"

    "No!" shouted Gant." We know this
man is guilty. There is no mistake.
What if nothing happens?"

    Bellows threw his arms in the
air, "Then nothing happens, and the
reverend is correct. God does not
want us to kill even as punishment
for killing."

    Now the reverend challenged, "And
if he dies from whatever act of God
or nature should befall him, we are
expected to kill those in the future
who we believe to have committed such
acts?"

    "Not at all", replied Bellows.
"Whether he lives or dies, the
punishment will remain as it was this
time. To have God decide their
punishment is the solution,
gentlemen. What we do, as men, will
only lead to more quarrelling among
the townspeople once this is done.
All may have signed in good faith to
abide by our decision, but soon the
losing sides will bring it up again.
We tried to escape human nature once
and it has brought us to this. This
will not end with a decision giving
victory to one or the other of us.
Eventually, that decision will lead
back where this began, a town
divided, neighbors angry at each
other, just as you two were a moment
ago, but no one will question the
will of God."

    The other two saw the wisdom of
this, though each saw different
advantages. The reverend knew he
could not object to God as judge and
executioner, and since no "man" would
harm the murderer, his objections
were satisfied. The frontiersman knew
he could guarantee justice whatever
outcome. If God chose to ignore this
man he could meet with ill luck a few
days later while hunting game or
crossing a stream. Justice would
prevail one way or the other. The
decision was made, the details worked
out, the town notified.

    The next day the prisoner was
taken out and tied to a tree near the
top of the hill behind the church.
There was no caretaker then. He was
tied to the tree with a thick rope,
like a dog would have been. He was
warned that if he tried to break
loose a delegation would climb back
to him and lash him tight to the
tree. He had a bucket of water within
reach and a little bread left for him
should he become hungry. His hands
were tied in front of him to allow
him to eat and drink, but still slow
any attempt to escape. To further
guarantee he would not escape, his
feet were hobbled.

    It would have been no surprise if
a storm had come up and the prisoner
died from a sudden bolt of lightning.
In fact it was later that same year
lightning killed that very tree. But
nothing happened. The whole town had
watched all afternoon from the church
yard. He had eaten no bread, but they
saw him get up and drink at times
throughout the afternoon and then sit
back down in the shade of the tree.
He had never been out of sight. So,
when the townspeople, by now
dissatisfied with the sentence, went
to cut him loose, they were surprised
to find him sitting peacefully under
the tree, quite dead. No mark was
found on him and no reason for his
death was ever found. Some believed
he was poisoned, but most truly
believed that it was the will of God.
Whatever happened, the die was cast.
The wisdom of this sentence was
proven, and to this day all who were
found guilty of murder had their
death or deliverance upon this hill.


  Revelations

    The prisoner had sat dutifully
and listened to the tale, the last
part of which he had heard many times
before with no significant
alterations. Some would claim the man
was seen choking on his food, or that
a fog suddenly descended and when it
lifted they saw the man was dead.
Still, in all the versions the man
was dead and no man had laid a hand
on him. The sentence was a success
and had worked just as well ever
after. The prisoner seemed changed by
the story, and the caretaker was
feeling pleased with himself. There
was no smirk on the prisoner's face
now, and he said nothing. The
caretaker wasn't sure what it meant,
but for a long time he had the
silence he wanted.

    The caretaker dipped a cup of
water from the bucket near his bench.
He drank and then dipped the cup
again and went over to the prisoner
and gave him a drink. He thought it a
bit odd how the prisoner watched him,
but neither of them spoke. He turned
and went back to his bench and looked
at the town. The crowd was beginning
to return and looking off towards the
west he saw why. A faint bank of
clouds was visible. Far too thin to
cause any real alarm, but still
enough to bring back those who wanted
to assure themselves of an
unobstructed view should the threat
increase.

    Then the prisoner finally spoke
but now he no longer seemed amused.
"You really believe that this will
happen?"

    The caretaker, still confused by
the change of character, simply
answered, "Yes."

    The prisoner spoke as though
genuinely interested. He was not
smiling and betrayed no sarcasm as he
continued, "You believe if someone is
guilty of murder they can be brought
to this hill and God will punish them
appropriately?"

    "Yes I do," the caretaker
emphasized.

    "And if they were misjudged, if
they were innocent, then God would do
nothing?"

    The caretaker was annoyed by the
repetition and shot back, "Yes, I
believe in the sentence, I believe it
has always worked and I believe the
elders were right when they
originally chose it."

    The prisoner now watched the
caretaker closely as he asked his
next question, "Then how can you sit
here on the hill yourself? Sit here
on this same hill only a few feet
away from me?"

    If the prisoner expected to
startle his companion he was
disappointed. The caretaker's gaze
was once again out past the meadow
towards the woods beyond. His face
once again expressionless, he
answered "The sentence is the
sentence. What will happen will
happen because it is just, it is
right, it is God's will". After a
pause he added, "And it will happen
to whomever God wishes to punish."

    Another long silence followed.
The caretaker had known that his
prisoner was not guilty of all he had
been accused. Throughout the trial he
had kept a secret he thought only he
could know. If it was to be solved it
would have to be done before sunset.
Guilty or innocent, punished or free,
if he lived, this man would likely
leave town quickly. This might be his
only chance.

    The caretaker now turned towards
the prisoner and asked, "Why all
three?"

    The prisoner smiled coyly, "What
do you mean?"

    "Why did you confess to all
three?" the caretaker demanded.

    Now the prisoner's smile
broadened, "You should remember I
confessed to nothing. I was caught
trying to kill Mr. Fiske. After I
described in graphic detail how I
killed and disposed of poor Mrs.
Fiske the month before, everyone
simply added the disappearance of
Miss Adams to my sins. I guess I
should say everyone except you."

    The caretaker looked towards the
prisoner but betrayed no emotion as
he said, "And yet you knew what had
happened to her all along. You were
nearby when it happened and saw me
leave the area?" He looked into the
prisoner's eyes and saw no answer.
Now his voice betrayed some concern.
"You were near by and heard us
arguing and when it fell silent you
advanced and saw the body?" He
searched the prisoner's face still
waiting for a reply, but only saw the
smile. Finally, his voice betraying
his confusion, he asked, "You were
watching and heard and saw
everything?"

    The prisoner stared into the
caretaker's eyes, "Didn't you wonder
why no one ever found the body?"

    Indeed, the caretaker had waited
in fear for days afterward wondering
when the discovery would happen.
Searches were conducted for days
after she was missed and many times
in the area of the crime. Yet no
alarm ever sounded. No evidence of
Miss Adams was ever seen again.  When
he finally worked up the courage to
return to the place he had left her,
he could find no evidence that the
clearing had been occupied by either
the living or the dead. "You did a
fine job of cleaning up," the
caretaker commented.

    The prisoner gazed out beyond the
meadow and recalled, "Yes, I thought
it would make a good rehearsal. It
was no easy task either. No blood of
course, but lots of torn cloth, and
you stepped on that hat of hers and
crushed it. You can't imagine how
many small pieces of that I found in
the grass. But only one shoe. I never
did find the other one. She must have
kicked it a long way in the struggle.
I knew they would recognize those
Sunday shoes she was wearing, so I'd
go back and look whenever the area
was clear of searchers, but never did
find it."

    The caretaker was not interested
in the care his companion had taken
to hide the crime. He now asked
directly, "Where is the body?"

    His companion smiled, "Oh don't
worry my friend, it's disposed of."

    "Where?" insisted the caretaker.

    The prisoner chuckled a bit,
"She's with Mrs. Fiske of course, or
perhaps I should say she's where Mrs.
Fiske has joined her." The prisoner
was clearly enjoying the look of
revulsion on the caretaker's face. "I
see you realize the story I told in
court was true. Yes, I know many of
the good townspeople thought I was
lying to hide the fact that Mrs.
Fiske and I were in this together.
They imagined that Mr. Fiske was Miss
Adams' secret lover and that after
Mrs. Fiske and I had done in poor
Miss Adams, she had slipped away.
They suspected that, after
eliminating her husband, I would join
her in some far off city where..."

    The prisoner stopped in mid-
sentence when the sunlight was
suddenly blocked by an approaching
cloud bank. The two had been so
involved with their conversation that
neither had noticed the darkening
clouds that were now overhead. The
caretaker looked to the bottom of the
hill and saw everyone was once again
gathered to watch. He felt the air
chill as the breeze was broken by
small gusts of wind, and he saw the
mists advancing towards them that
marked the edge of the approaching
rain. But there was no thunder, nor
flashes of lightning that might mark
a quick end to the vigil. He thought
how it would be fitting if his
companion would catch his "death of
cold" and slowly wheeze his way into
oblivion. However, short of this, it
seemed the prisoner would soon walk
freely back to town. Even though the
sun was no longer visible, he knew
there was less than thirty minutes
left before the timekeeper below
would ring the church bell and signal
the end of the sentence.

    The caretaker had little time to
finish his inquires, "What of the
clothing?" he asked. "You couldn't
take the chance that some would be
found downstream."

    "Well, there are advantages to
being the blacksmith," the prisoner
chuckled again and continued, "For
instance, no one wonders why you have
a fire burning on a warm summer
day."

    The rain began suddenly and
steadily but not yet hard enough to
shroud them from the people below.
The caretaker now moved further under
cover and waited for the bell to
sound. The rain would make it
difficult to hear any answers now,
and he no longer wished to continue
entertaining his companion. It was
clear the prisoner was enjoying every
wince on his face. The guilt and
grief he had once felt now returned.
At least the rain would prevent his
tormentor from seeing how successful
he had been. By allowing the rain to
reach him before he retreated, he
disguised the tears that mingled with
rainwater on his face.

    A short time later, the bell
rang. The caretaker rose and went out
to the post. Now the rain increased,
and as he reached the post, he saw it
was so intense, that he could no
longer see the town. Even the stone
wall was no longer visible. He took
out his knife and began cutting the
rope from his neighbor's hands.


  Discoveries

    The townspeople strained to see
the two figures that had vanished in
the rain and waited for them to
emerge from the downpour. Then as
suddenly as it had increased the rain
slacked off and they saw the hill
clearly again. But no figures were
visible, no bodies lay on the ground.
Two men walked up and examined the
shelter and post and looked out past
the meadow. The shelter was empty but
for the drinking pail and cup still
laying on the bench. On the ground by
the post lay the ropes that had held
the prisoner to the post and bound
his hands, but no further evidence as
to what had occurred was found. Any
clues to what became of the two had
been erased by the rain. A search of
the surrounding woods and streams
turned up nothing.

    They began to doubt the "wisdom
of the elders." Most of the
townspeople suspected the caretaker
was murdered, and the killer somehow
disposed of the body while making his
escape. "How could an innocent man be
dead and a guilty one escape? If it
was truly God who punished those
brought to the hill, then how could
this have happened?" A few still
believed so strongly in the sentence
they decided that God had taken them
both, though by what means and why
they could not answer. The town did
not have to wait long. By the next
evening everyone was silent. No one
was questioning the "wisdom of the
elders." Whatever had happened, they
were certain no innocent man had died
on the hill. The neighbors had
entered the caretaker's cottage that
morning. In the main room, upon the
dining table, sat a single shoe.

              The End